


Episode 18: If You Feel Lost..

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [18]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clan Ordo, Dealing With Loss, F/M, Friends for Life, Gen, Hope for the future, Learning to move on, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, Medical Conditions, Name Change, missing a lost lover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 03:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "Just have to put my mind to it." ~No'ganWhen you lose someone, sometimes living your life in a way that would make them proud softens the blow.





	Episode 18: If You Feel Lost..

Noga’n clicked on his bunk light and rubbed his face. Glancing to his right, he rolled onto his side and quickly pushed the tape back down on a worn photo threatening to sink between the bed and the wall. Truth be told, he barely recognized himself in the photo: long hair replaced with a short-cropped mohawk, a few new scars on his face, and… Jecho. His fingertips gently caressed her face. Her sparkling eyes, her tattoos, the way she looked at him when she smiled.. He missed her so much. He missed her more than anything. She didn’t last more than a year with the clan, and despite what Teika said he always blamed himself.  
Beun’s rescue left him with a shattered tibia and an infection from the emergency treatment he received mid firefight. To stop the infection, the medics suggested an amputation. He was terrified, and loopy from all the painkillers...but with Jecho beside him, he felt like he could do anything...so he consented. After months of trying, none of the prosthetics took. He’d break out in hives and rashes on his stump of a leg. Nothing they pumped into him curbed the allergic reactions and he was ready to give up again. With Beun’s help, they found a solution..just in time for Jecho to leave.   
“We’re not like them,” she’d said after bringing him a steaming tray of food from the mess hall. She sat cross legged in the chair by his bed, gently rocking back and forth with her eyes distant. He remembered she was wearing a red flight suit and a black headband with a sharp toothed, snarling creature on it courtesy of Beun’s eccentric taste in headgear. He knew she only wore it to make Lyse happy, whom, on occasion, wore one of her own.   
He ate quickly but made sure to pause and take his medicine, chugging the water jug to chase it in one big gulp   
“Jec...we’ve talked about this,” he said between bites, “I you want to leave, we can leave. I just want to finish my treatment first.”  
“But we can transfer you somewhere else, right?” she looked hopefully up at the technician adjusting his kolto drip. He nodded.   
“We can get you to Onderon and have your records shipped out with you.”   
“See!” Jecho gestured, exasperated. Noga’n frowned.   
“I… I guess we can. I’d just hate to leave the others.”   
Teika and Lyse seemed happier here, healthier too. Lyse was learning starship mechanics from Beun and taking combat lessons with the younger mando’ade. Teika already had two hunts under his belt and was working on a gnarly set of black-and-orange armor to go with it. They came to visit when they had the time, Lyse more than Teika so she could gossip with Jecho. Lately, however, Jecho didn’t seem up to talking.   
Mandalorians are far closer to the war than she ever wanted to be. Though Clan Ordo was not an active player in the conflict, wounded mando’ade weren’t uncommon to see rushed in on hover stretchers or in coffins. Jecho would have slept in the room if they’d let her but they needed every available bed. In addition to the news played 24/7 in every cantina on the planet, there was no escaping the mounting tensions between the Separatists and the Republic, not to mention the tensions between the Mandalorians. Noga’n was only vaguely aware of the internal conflict, having gleaned bits and pieces from Beun’s infrequent visits. Every now and then, she and Fent would stop by to check in on him; Beon came a few times as well.   
“Have you eaten?” he remembered asking, holding out a the half of his roba pie that still had the thick crust.   
Jecho shook her head and pushed the plate back to him, “You’ll need it, remember? Tomorrow they’re trying out a different material. If you get sick again…” she trailed off.   
He’d reached out and put his hand on her leg.   
“We’ll just keep trying, yeah? Beun said-”  
But Jecho got up and rushed from the room. Replaying the memory in his head, he always thought he’d heard her crying. Maybe not, but his mind kept replaying the muffled sobs as she vanished into the hall. Some may have been his, some hers

He never saw her again...

The fifth prosthetic didn’t take. He was tired of the painful scabbing and chemical peels, nights spent awake partially doped up but still aware of the phantom throbbing in his non existent ankle. Depression quickly set in. With no hope of a new leg, they prepared to have him sent away for further treatment in the Core. The night before he left, Beun and the gang came to visit. No one mentioned Jecho, which he was grateful for, but no one wanted him to leave. He just wanted to forget about it all, just to get it over with. Maybe being away from the Clan would help him forget about her? He didn’t know, but he wanted to try. Teika and Lyse agreed to go with him and make sure he made it to Onderon at least before heading back to the compound. Beon and Fent tried to cheer him up with some robot related quips, but nothing could cut through the thick haze around his mind. Eventually, Beun shooed them out. He remembered her shutting the door with a sigh before turning around to face him. Her expression was somewhere between concern and determination. Honestly he was almost too tired to tell. He barely heard her talking to him, but at some point she said something that caught his attention.   
“Noy’ganyc,” she’d said, “it means ‘lost’ in mando’a. Normally we use it to describe something we can’t find or have misplaced,” her sun-eyes studied his probably-disheveled face, “You’ve lost and you are lost. I can see it in your eyes.”   
He’d nodded slightly, but said nothing for a moment. She continued to watch him, her eyes searching him for the thoughts he couldn’t put into words. Why would she leave him? He thought she loved him. Maybe she did, but not like he loved her? Maybe his love wasn’t enough? Maybe he assumed it would be enough to keep her around? Did he make up their connection? Maybe one dance wasn’t enough to spark the kind of love that lasted, but..  
“What should I do?” his voice sounded foreign, distant, and hoarse as if he hadn’t used it in a long time.   
Beun didn’t reply for some time. Eventually he looked up at her; she was staring off into space, eyes darting back and forth in thought.   
“Stay here,” she’d said after a while, “Stay with us.”  
“Why?”  
“Do you really want to be alone?” 

“Su cuy’gar, vode!” he clasped Beon’s arm and waved to Fent otherwise occupied by Beun, “How was Tatooine?”  
“A nightmare,” Beon shook his head, smiling weakly, “I’m just glad to be out of the heat.”  
Noga’n laughed, “I told you, didn’t I? I said I’d spent four years in the suns-”  
“And the suns don’t suffer di’kut, I know,” Beon rolled his eyes. “Well how many credits do I owe you?”  
“None, I’m just happy to see you two.”   
Beon patted his shoulder and the two walked over to the now-bickering couple.   
Fixing Beun’s ship was almost as fun as building it the first time. After her original ship took a beating at Fa’athra’s, and proved far too small for seven people, Beun spent three years collecting the credits and materials to build her own ship. Many of the pieces came pre-assembled and only needed a few connections done on site.   
While she and Lyse shopped for the last few engine components, Beon and Fent screwed down the interior panels. Basket around his neck and perched precariously on his peg-leg, Noga’n tightened the bolts on the airlock doors and glued down the rubber guards on the door seal. Once finished, he grabbed his crutches and hobbled up the length of the ship to the cockpit where a box of odds and ends waited for him by the partially assembled navicomputer. He set the crutches to the side and pried the impromptu leg off his stump. The device was Beun’s idea. Instead of connecting to his nerves and acting like a new leg, this contraption fit around his leg like a socket. Every morning, he wrapped his leg up to cover any exposed skin, fit it into the device, and secured it to a velcro strap below his knee. To keep up with his comrades should combat find him, Fent suggested the post be retractable and that the bowl portion be outfitted with flares. In his mind, if Noga’n could rocket out and set off flares or even some kind of small projectile, he could provide his comrades with cover and an escape plan. Everyone loved the idea, but had no idea how to implement it. As usual, Fent knew a guy. In two weeks, Noga’n would have his new hopefully-permanent-battle-ready leg. The idea always seemed to make him laugh, something that was a rarity when Jecho left.   
Booting up the navicomputer, Noga’n muttered to himself in mando’a to make sure he could read the screen at a glance. Per Beun’s request, she had them all learn mando’a for more than just cultural reasons. She felt it was better for strategic planning if the enemy couldn’t understand them. It made sense to him, although mando’a was nothing like the Huttese he’d picked up over the years. Every few lessons he’d hit a word that would make him chuckle. Pronunciation wasn’t his forte, and sometimes the way he butchered the words sent Lyse, Teika, and Fent into five minute fits of laughter. Beun put a stop to that and took over the lessons. Something about Fent not being cut out for teaching. Either way, he was learning fast by her metrics.   
“Done,” he murmured, the last screw finally going in.   
He sat back and looked around the cockpit. Jecho would have loved this, he told himself. She would have… right?


End file.
